


she blows out of nowhere, roman candle of the wild

by mygalfriday (BrinneyFriday)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Human AU, also there's a cannoli, and river sits down at his table and irritates him until he falls in love, in which twelve is stood up on a date
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 22:50:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6169825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrinneyFriday/pseuds/mygalfriday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only thing more humiliating than being stood up is being stood up in a restaurant where everyone can clearly see he’s been sitting at a table for two all night without any company. </p><p>He turns to signal the waiter and pay for his tea but before he can lift his hand, the chair across from him is pulled back and a whirlwind with hair sinks into it. “Sorry I’m late, darling,” she says, a touch too loudly as she drops her handbag onto the table and beams at him. “Traffic was hell.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	she blows out of nowhere, roman candle of the wild

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hihoplastic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hihoplastic/gifts).



> Story title from Jackie and Wilson by Hozier.

 

People are starting to stare.

 

He doesn’t look up from shredding his third napkin into very small pieces but he can feel their eyes on him – sympathetic glances, curious gazes peering at him with every minute that passes, every time he waves the waitress away and orders nothing but tea as he waits.

 

Silently damning Clara for setting him up and damning himself for actually agreeing to it, John glares at his third cup of tea and struggles to determine his best course of action. Getting up and walking out would be pathetic but sitting here another moment waiting for some woman who clearly isn’t going to show is just demeaning.

 

He sighs, eyes narrowing as another waiter passes by with a look of pity. The only thing more humiliating than being stood up is being stood up in a restaurant where everyone can clearly see he’s been sitting at a table for two all night without any company.

 

Steeling himself, he pushes away his cup and tries to gather the courage to stand up and leave. He turns to signal the waiter and pay for his tea but before he can lift his hand, the chair across from him is pulled back and a whirlwind with hair sinks into it. “Sorry I’m late, darling,” she says, a touch too loudly as she drops her handbag onto the table and beams at him. “Traffic was hell.”

 

He blinks at her, trying to recall the blurry picture Clara had shown him of his date on her mobile. He’s certain he would have remembered all that hair. “You’re not -”

 

She leans across the table, her hand curling around the back of his neck as she presses a kiss to his cheek. His breath stutters and he grips the edge of the table, stunned. “My name is River,” she whispers, her breath brushing his jaw. “Just go with it, sweetie.”

 

She waits until he nods before she settles back into her chair and he finally gets a proper look at her as she turns and waves a waiter to their table. With her full and smirking mouth, her wide nose, and eyes so clear and green he feels like he’s looking into a body of water, she’s absolutely fascinating. And that isn’t even taking into account all those bloody curls. His tongue feels stuck to the roof of his mouth and John can do nothing but stare at her as a waiter approaches.

 

“Could we get menus, please?” She bats her lashes at the poor fellow, who looks a bit dumbstruck – either that John’s date had actually shown up or that his date looks like her. “And a bottle of red. Oh, and some of those lovely breadsticks, yeah?” She darts a quick, fond glance across the table at him and he swallows at how genuine she manages to make the expression. “I’m sure my sweetie is feeling a bit peckish. I certainly kept him waiting, didn’t I?”

 

As the waiter scurries off to do her bidding, looking a little flustered, River turns to face him again with a smug grin. It’s only then that he realizes what she’s done – saved him from the embarrassment of being stood up in public. While he feels like deflating in relief, part of him is rather insulted she’d felt the need. Has she been watching him all evening, feeling sorry for the poor old man without a date?

 

The thought of this woman pitying him sets his teeth on edge.

 

“You didn’t need to do that,” he grumbles, frowning at her. “And I am not your sweetie.”

 

River blinks but the surprise doesn’t last long, her mouth settling into another infuriating smirk. “You’re welcome.”

 

“I didn’t thank you.”

 

She smiles, wide enough to show her teeth. “I noticed.”

 

They don’t say anything else, sizing each other up in silence until the waiter returns balancing menus, wine, and a basket of breadsticks. He resists the urge to snatch one up immediately – he _is_ feeling peckish but he doesn’t want to give her reason to feel more smug. He eyes the breadsticks reproachfully and ignores his stomach growling.

 

River picks up a menu and peruses it quickly before handing it back to the waiter. “I’ll have the risotto. He’ll have the tagliatelle in bolognese sauce.” She ignores John’s choked sound of protest, reaching across the table to pat his hand condescendingly. “And a cannoli to share, please.”

 

She winks at the waiter, who flushes, jots everything down, and scurries off again.

 

The minute he’s out of sight, John yanks his hand away and snaps, “I don’t know who the bloody hell you think you are -”

 

“The woman who just saved you from a rather humbling exit.” She sips her wine, eyes sparkling. “Calm down, honey. You looked about one innuendo from giving away the game – I had to get rid of him before you blew our cover.”

 

“Cover?”

 

“Yes, you know – inhibited, tetchy old man woos sexually dominant woman of indeterminate age.” She takes another slow sip of wine and picks up a breadstick, apparently oblivious to John’s quietly occurring aneurysm. “Follow my lead and by the end of the evening, no one in this restaurant will believe you aren’t getting shagged tonight.”

 

John glowers at her, certain that if he had a tendency to blush he’d likely be doing so now. So he just glares and watches her nudge the breadsticks in his direction. “If you’re expecting money, you’ve come to the wrong table. I don’t pay for company.”

 

Eyes narrowed, she sets down her glass hard enough to make him wince. “What exactly are you implying?”

 

“Just that I’m sure you’re very -” He gestures wordlessly at her, struggling to find something other than _fucking gorgeous_. “Talented. And trying to salvage my evening is very kind of you but I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling. So you might want to bugger off and peddle it elsewhere.”

 

She stares at him with wide eyes for a long moment and he watches curiously as her mouth begins to twitch. Between one breath and the next she’s laughing, her head thrown back and her curls spilling over her shaking shoulders. Her laughter is bright and ringing and catches the attention of everyone around them. John barely notices, too transfixed by the sight of her struggling to catch her breath.

 

“Oh honey,” she says, still giggling. “Even if I was a hooker, you couldn’t afford me.”

 

“John, not _honey_ ,” he snaps, then grimaces. “You’re not…”

 

She shakes her head, pursing her lips against another bout of laughter. To his relief, she doesn’t seem offended by the misunderstanding, her eyes glittering with merriment. “I’m an archaeologist.”

 

He groans, all thoughts of his faux pas fleeing. “Of course you are.”

 

“What?”

 

“Well tonight has already been shite – why not top it all off by having a sodding glorified grave robber come to my rescue?” He snorts and mutters, “I think I preferred it when you were a hooker.”

 

“Charming,” she says, lips twisting in annoyance. “I can’t imagine why your date stood you up.”

 

“As a matter of fact, we’ve never met,” he mutters. “It was a blind date.”

 

“Ah. Dodged a bullet then, didn’t she?” River clucks her tongue, smirking. “Think she came in, saw those eyebrows, and left?”

 

His mouth starts to curl upwards of its own accord and John doesn’t try to stifle it, too startled to bother. It’s always a pleasant surprise when people don’t take his natural cantankerousness personally and it’s even more rare when that person can fire back so quickly. Archaeologist or not, River is a challenge John hasn’t had in an age. He sits up a little straighter and looks her in the eye, still smiling as he admits, “Damned things are impossible to control.”

 

He waggles them for emphasis and she laughs. “Mind you, the hair could have frightened her away.”

 

He frowns. “What’s wrong with my hair?” He touches hesitant fingertips to the greying ends but River says nothing, only purses her lips demurely and picks up her drink. Huffing, he says, “Wee bit hypocritical to criticize someone else’s hair, don’t you think?”

 

Her eyes narrow and she carefully sets aside her glass. “What is that supposed to mean?”

 

“I’d explain but I’m afraid your hair might get offended and eat me – as it clearly has all your other enemies.” He eyes it with suspicion, only further delighted when River finds his shin under the table with the toe of her high-heeled shoe. “Footsy on a first date? I’m making quite the impression.”

 

River opens her mouth to reply but his mobile chirps in his pocket. “Your date?”

 

“She doesn’t have my number.” He fumbles for it, glancing at the screen.

 

_How’s dinner going? Do you like her?_

_You should ask her to the wedding. You NEED a plus one! It’ll throw off my seating chart!_

 

He scowls. “It’s Clara.”

 

“Clara?”

 

“She set me up on this bloody disaster.” He tucks his mobile away without responding, deciding scolding his co-worker for this rubbish date will be more effective if she can see him. “If you’re not -” He waves a hand at her again, amused by her raised eyebrow. “If you’re a professor, why are you sitting here? Make a habit of filling in on blind dates gone wrong?”

 

“Not quite.” She shrugs, glancing about as though they might be overheard. He leans forward without conscious thought, intrigued despite himself. “I actually came here to pretend to be stood up on a date and get a free meal. Of course, the moment I walked in and saw you, I knew you’d been sitting here a while.”

 

He stares at her – it isn’t quite the answer he’d been expecting. “So you thought you’d get a free meal and do a good deed while you were at it?”

 

“Well, that and I don’t like to eat alone.” She shrugs again, reaching for her wine and avoiding his gaze. “Terribly dull.”

 

Deciding to let it go, he asks dryly, “Grave robbing not as lucrative as it used to be?”

 

River lifts her head. “Oh, I don’t want a free meal because I’m skint.”

 

“Then why bother?”

 

Her nose crinkles and he’s furious with himself for finding the expression so charming as she replies, “Because it’s fun.” She tilts her head, eyeing him. “Suppose you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, sweetie?”

 

“Why?” He asks, not even bothering to correct the pet name this time. “Because I’m not a con artist?”

 

River frowns, moving her glass of wine as the waiter arrives balancing their plates. He settles them on their table and John is inexplicably pleased to note River is too busy staring at him to bother tossing their waiter another wink. “What do you do for a living, John?”

 

Watching in oddly visceral triumph as their waiter leaves them sans flirty exchange, John pokes at his food. “I teach physics at Cambridge.”

 

“Ah, yes.” River folds her napkin in her lap and bites her lip, eyes bright. “Very exciting. Silly me.”

 

“Bugger off,” he mutters, scowling at her. “I have fun.”

 

She tucks into her risotto with a condescending nod. “Alright then, tell me the last thing you did for fun.”

 

“Does this count?”

 

“It might if you were _having_ fun. Good luck convincing me of that.”

 

“I meant a blind date. Not the bloody circus it’s turned into with your help.” John turns his attention to his food, grudgingly admitting as he takes a bite that she’d ordered him exactly what he would have chosen if she’d given him the opportunity. Not that he’ll say it out loud. He waits until she isn’t looking and steals a breadstick too.

 

River gives him a knowing look anyway but she doesn’t say anything, watching him eat. In the first moment of peace he’s had since she sat down at his table, he notices yet again how lovely she is. An utter terror, of course, but rather delightful to look at. He doubts whoever Clara had chosen for him would have looked quite so attractive while antagonizing him – or that he’d have enjoyed being antagonized quite so thoroughly. To his own consternation, he realizes he is having fun. Right now, sitting at a table with an _archaeologist_.

 

“I don’t think anyone would categorize a blind date as fun, darling,” she finally points out, and he offers no protest to the new pet name. He’s starting to get used to them and the ease with which they roll off her tongue. “Why did you even agree to it? You don’t seem the type.”

 

“I don’t seem the type to date?” He asks, doing his best to sound insulted. She hardly needs to know she’s right. He hates dating – the small talk, being on his best behavior, navigating someone else’s preferences. Rubbish, all of it. He’s been better off without it.

 

“I meant you don’t seem the type to agree to a blind date.” River tilts her head. “But now that you mention it…”

 

He scowls. “I’m not a monk.”

 

Biting back a smile, River swallows a bite of risotto and reaches for her wine. “Last date before this one?”

 

John stabs at a noodle on his plate. “Twenty years ago.”

 

She pauses, fingers tight around her glass, and stares at him. He avoids her gaze and after a moment, she clears her throat and says lightly, “That certainly explains why you’re so bad at it.”

 

He lifts his eyes from his plate at that, frowning. “What’ve I done?”

 

River gives him a soft smile, watching him closely. “Where shall I start? Disparaging my career? Calling me a hooker? And you haven’t said a thing about my dress. Honestly, it’s a wonder anyone would agree to shag you.”

 

Scowling, he refrains from a reply in lieu of darting a quick look at her dress. There’s nothing particularly special about it that he can see – black, low cut, clinging to her curves. And bloody hell does the woman have curves. It seems to him the dress doesn’t deserve any praise at all but rather the woman in it.

 

“Why thank you, sweetie.” He lifts his gaze hastily and meets River’s, puzzled to find her watching him with delighted, slightly wide eyes. Her lips curl and for a moment he’s too engrossed by them to understand but River sips her wine and murmurs, “Perhaps you’re not so bad at this after all.”

 

He hisses through his teeth, eyes narrowing in a glare as he realizes he’d said all that out loud. Fucking hell, she’ll never let him live that down. Not, he tells himself with a scowl, that he plans to be around her all that long. It’ll certainly make the rest of this evening unbearable though.

 

“Just a bit out of practice, I think,” she says, still looking absurdly pleased. “Divorced, then?”

 

John picks up his fork again and pokes another noodle. “Widowed.”

 

River’s quiet, sharp inhale catches his attention and he studies her out of the corner of his eye, watching the teasing light fade from her eyes as she glances down at her plate and swallows. Her cheeks have lost their color and he watches her fingers tremble around the stem of her glass, perplexed by her reaction until she admits softly, “Me too.”

 

He stops pretending to eat, stops pretending not to look at her, and lifts his head. From the moment she sat down at his table River has flirted and irritated and generally been an insufferably enchanting blight on his already rubbish evening but staring at her now, he feels like he’s truly seeing her for the first time, stripped of all her usual tricks. She smiles faintly and while some days it feels as though his mouth has forgotten how to smile, he has no trouble at all mirroring her expression.

 

“How long ago?”

 

He shrugs, darting a glance at his half-finished breadstick currently soaking up the bolognese sauce on his plate. “Long time. I was young.”

 

“So was I.” River sighs and he watches her frown at the ring he’s only just noticed on her finger. “Never remarried though – he was a difficult act to follow. Children?”

 

The question catches him off guard and he feels his chest tighten, looking away. Usually he avoids directly answering such a question, distracting people with some tangent or another until they’ve forgotten they’d ever asked. This feels different, somehow, with River sitting across from him equally vulnerable – his unlikely savior this evening. He doesn’t feel up to a rambling distraction under her gaze and he finds himself staring blankly at his plate and offering a gruff, quiet, “No. Not anymore.”

 

She watches him with soft, misty eyes and startles the hell out of him by reaching across the table and taking his hand. She squeezes his fingers and her thumb strokes softly across his knuckles – he shudders, swallowing – but she doesn’t offer any of those polite apologies that mean nothing to him. He’s quietly grateful for the lack of platitudes.

 

He doesn’t welcome touch easily – he stiffens even when Clara hugs him, awkwardly patting her head until she lets go. It’s been such a long time since he’s willingly initiated any sort of contact and probably even longer since he’s actually craved it but River keeps his hand in her gentle grip and while he knows he’s tense and unmoving under her touch, he doesn’t want her to stop.

 

“Perhaps we’re both rather bad at this,” she admits, smiling.

 

There’s a solemnity that still lingers in her eyes but he can tell she doesn’t realize just how easy she is to read – at least to him, anyway. She’s ready to make light of their conversation again and he’s only too willing to follow her lead. “Well, you haven’t mentioned my suit either.”

 

River raises an eyebrow, offering him an unimpressed once-over. “Sweetie, that didn’t even qualify as a suit the last time you went on a date twenty years ago.”

 

Glancing down at his white button down and black coat, John frowns. “What’s wrong with it?”

 

“No tie, for one thing,” she says, eyes lingering at his collar. “You look as if you bumbled through your closet for a black coat and trousers and didn’t care if they went together at all. Blind date doesn’t mean you have to look as if you are, you know.”

 

He huffs. “Aren’t you supposed to be making everyone think you’re shagging me? I gathered you’re only using me to get a free meal but you’re not even trying.”

 

“Sorry, sweetie.” She abandons her wine to grip his hand tighter, bending her head to kiss his knuckles. Her lips are soft and warm against his skin and her mouth lingers for a beat too long, her cheek nuzzling his wrist. John swallows tightly, breath hitching. River peeks at him coyly through her lashes. “Better?”

 

He clears his throat. “Tease.”

 

Laughing softly, she releases his hand and says, “It’s only teasing if you don’t plan to follow through.”

 

“And do you?” He swallows again, silently cursing his dry mouth. His sodding tongue feels permanently stuck to the roof of his mouth. “Plan to…”

 

Lips curling into a smile, River shakes her head and her curls tumble into her eyes. He stares at her, chest tight, and honestly has no idea which answer he would prefer. “Like I said, honey,” she murmurs. “You couldn’t afford me.”

 

He snorts and when she kicks him under the table again, it elicits a real, broad grin for the first time he can remember. It stretches his face uncomfortably but River doesn’t pull away, brushing her foot teasingly against his ankle through the rest of their meal. His smile never quite fades, even as they bicker through dinner and fight over the biggest half of their shared cannoli. They linger over their wine – he talks more about his job and River regales him with tales of what the dating world is like nowadays until he’s suddenly very glad Clara’s friend hadn’t shown up and he’d gotten River instead.

 

When the time comes to pay for their meals and go, John finds that he doesn’t really want to. His movements are slow and reluctant as he reaches into his pocket for his wallet, his attention divided between searching for it and watching River reapply her lipstick in the reflection of a spoon.

 

It’s a bit distracting so it takes him a moment longer than it should to realize he doesn’t have his wallet. Heart lurching, he turns his attention entirely from River in favor of frantically patting his pockets but it’s no use – it isn’t here. He curses under his breath, picturing his wallet probably lying on his dressing table. He has no money to pay for dinner and clearly River doesn’t either, considering her entire goal for the evening had been to get her meal for free.

 

Buggering hell, what a bastard of a finish to the night.

 

“What’s the face for?”

 

He looks up and catches River watching him curiously, lipstick still in hand. “What face?”

 

“That one.” She gestures with her lipstick. “The _oh bugger now I’ve done it_ face.”

 

He frowns and mumbles, “Forgot my wallet.”

 

She tucks her lipstick into her handbag and fluffs her hair, distracting him once again until she says, “Oh, is that all?”

 

John blinks. “You have money?”

 

She shakes her head.

 

“Well then I think it’s a sodding big deal, don’t you?” He snaps, and pats his pockets again just to be sure. He could have sworn he’d taken it with him –

 

“Oh, stop fussing, sweetie. Neither of us will have to pay for a thing tonight – I’ve got a plan.” She waits a beat to make certain he’s listening and drawn in by her sparkling eyes and mischievous grin, John leans forward in his chair, brow furrowed. “Just propose to me.”

 

He stares at her, certain he must have misheard her. “Sorry?”

 

She sighs, hands folded on the table in front of her as she explains patiently, “If a man proposes in this restaurant, he and his fiancée get their meal for free. It’s a custom.”

 

“You -” He gapes at her for a moment, struggling to summon the rest of his sentence. “You want me to propose for a _free dinner_?”

 

River shrugs, swiping the last of the frosting from the cannoli on the plate in front of her, popping her finger into her mouth. “It’s just pretend – no need to sound so scandalized, sweetie.” She pushes the plate away and wipes her finger on a napkin, still infuriatingly unruffled by their predicament. “It’s either this or put on some gloves and prepare to wash dishes.”

 

“We can’t just – I don’t want to – I’m _not_ going to -” His dismay seems a bit over the top in the face of River’s steady calm and she certainly has a point. They don’t have much choice. With an air of defeat, he grumbles, “I haven’t got a ring.”

 

River eyes the one on his finger but says nothing, silently slipping off the one she wears and offering it to him. “Go on then. And make it a good show, will you, sweetie?” She grins. “Make me want to say yes.”

 

“You’ll bloody well say yes or wash dishes in the back by your damn self,” he mutters, and slips from his seat. He feels completely ridiculous, aware of every single person in the room turning to stare the moment he drops to one knee but then River affects a startled gasp and presses a hand to her chest. Suddenly he’s biting back the urge to laugh, sighing inwardly.

 

Might as well make it good.

 

“River,” he begins, licking his lips. “ _Dear_ -”

 

Her mouth curls into a real smile at that. “Yes, my love?”

 

“The first time I saw you, I hated you. Bloody irritating, smug -” River squeezes his hand warningly, her smile frozen and her eyes narrowed. He smirks. “Beautiful though. And you’ve grown on me a wee bit since then.” Two hours since she first sat down at his table and it’s unreasonable how fond of her he’s become in such a short time. The woman has endeared herself to him with her bravado and her vulnerability and her damned pet names.

 

River raises an eyebrow. “Only a bit?”

 

“I’m mad for every last infuriating bit of you,” he amends, and her eyes widen like she’s forgotten they’re putting on a show. For a moment, John does too. “You’re my perfect match. I think it’s time we made a proper go of it, don’t you?” He waggles his brows at her. “I’ll even wear a real suit.”

 

River laughs, warm and genuine.

 

He holds out the ring and hears the excited murmur roll through the dining room. This is it – their meal ticket. “River -” He starts to say her full name, realizes he doesn’t know her last name, and amends quickly, dramatically, “Light of my life, my raison d’etre – will you marry me?”

 

“Oh, my darling.” She sniffles, eyes watering impressively. “I thought you’d never ask – of course I will!”

 

She barely gives him time to slip the ring on her finger before she throws her arms around his neck and plants her lips enthusiastically against his. John breathes in sharply against her mouth, shocked to his core and hot all over. She cradles his jaw with her fingertips and she’s warm and soft and she smells divine. If he weren’t already on his knees, surely her kiss would have done it.

 

They part to the sound of applause and River brushes her nose against his, looking smug. “Now that, my dear, was a proposal.”

 

His lips are still tingling when they walk out minutes later in the midst of more congratulations, their hands entwined and free meal in their bellies. Once the door shuts behind them, they pause on the curb and regard each other with triumphant smiles. River’s hand slips from his and for someone who didn’t like to be touched only a few hours ago, he feels the loss keenly.

 

“Well,” she says brightly. “I’d call that a successful evening. Cheers, sweetie.”

 

Without another word, she turns on her heel and starts to saunter away. John stares after her, a protest caught in his throat and a sinking feeling in his stomach. All he’d wanted when she sat down was for her to bugger off but now that she is –

 

“Oh, I almost forgot.” River whirls to face him, producing something from her handbag with a flourish. “I think this belongs to you.”

 

He stares at what she holds out to him – his wallet – and feels his mouth drop open. “You’re a ruddy thief!”

 

“Archaeologist,” she corrects, wrinkling her nose with a smile.

 

“Same thing,” he grumbles, snatching the wallet from her and tucking it away. “Why would you go to all that trouble when I could’ve just sodding well paid for dinner?”

 

“Weren’t you listening earlier, sweetie?” She tilts her head patiently, tutting. “It’s _fun_. Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy our bit of improv back there.”

 

Deflating under her knowing gaze – he _had_ enjoyed it, damn her – John glowers and snaps, “You’re insane. Properly fucking mad.”

 

Far from insulted, River only smiles. “All the best girls are, honey.”

 

He sighs, his chest tight and swelling with inexplicable fondness for this strange woman. She looks down at her hands clutching her bag and he can sense that any moment now she’s going to walk away again but he can’t let her – not this time. “Do you want-” He ventures, pausing in frustration and trying again. “We could get coffee…”

 

River shakes her head, swaying into him with an indulgent grin. “I hate coffee.”

 

Mouth twitching, John lets his gaze drop to her lips and mutters absently, “Me too.”

 

This time, there isn’t a crowd of onlookers about and he isn’t nearly so caught off guard. When River leans in and kisses him, he meets her halfway, one of his hands tangled in her wild curls and the other pressed against the small of her back, keeping her close. Their mouths slide hotly together, one breathless kiss after another as they linger on the curb outside the restaurant. River tastes bitter like wine and sweet like cannolis and John groans, his fingers fisting in the material of her dress as foreign desire makes itself known in the pit of his stomach for the first time in ages.

 

Wrapped tightly in his arms, River draws back and buries her face in his neck, her breath trembling against his skin. “Not out of practice at _everything_ , are you, sweetie?”

 

He smirks into her hair, shaking his head. “I have excellent memory recall.”

 

She lifts her head and his breath catches at her darkened eyes and her flushed cheeks. His stomach turns over on itself as she asks huskily, “Care to prove that?”

 

-

 

Living alone means he hardly ever cooks and most days he skips breakfast entirely, rushing out the door to work and stopping for tea on his way. He hasn’t made a proper spread in years and he’s having a bit of difficulty remembering the specifics of eggs and bacon. Thankfully River seems to be a heavy sleeper and the smell of burnt eggs hasn’t roused her.

 

An entirely involuntary smile stretches across his face at the thought of the complete terror currently taking up the space in his bed and since there’s no one around to see it, he allows the soppy expression to stay put. She may be a bit mad and far too smug for her own good but she’s brilliant and funny and not even close to boring. She’s also got a very skilled tongue.

 

The least he can do is make her breakfast.

 

Clara bursts into his flat during his third attempt to make an omelet, slamming the door and marching right toward him like a small, angry hobbit. “Where have you been?”

 

John turns back to the stove with a muttered, “Good morning to you too.”

 

“Don’t start with me, John,” she snaps, stopping beside him with a hand planted on her hip. “I texted you for hours last night and heard nothing back from you! I called this morning and -” She stops, sniffing the air. “Hang on, is that -” She peers over his shoulder, gasping. “You’re making breakfast! Why are you making – oh my god.” She claps a hand over her mouth, looking mortified. “Is your date still here?”

 

“Yes, actually.”

 

She squeaks, startling John into glancing at her. “I knew you would hit it off but _oh my god_. I wasn't even sure you knew how anymore - hang on, did you ask her to the wedding? You need a plus one and -”

 

The door to his bedroom creaks open and Clara stops midsentence as River wanders out. She’s wrapped in nothing but a sheet, her cheek creased from her pillow and her hair mussed to such proportions there is no denying she’d been thoroughly shagged. She smiles when she sees him and he bites his lip against an answering grin, watching her make her way toward him. She offers Clara a nod of acknowledgement – shameless, that woman – as she passes her.

 

Clara gapes at her in open-mouthed shock but she doesn’t notice and John pays it no mind, his attention focused entirely on River sidling up to him. “You made breakfast,” she murmurs sleepily, and steals a piece of bacon from the plate beside the stove.

 

While she’s close, John steals a kiss in return and she hums, her hand on his chest as she leans in with a smile. She’s sleep-warm against him and she tastes like cotton and it’s been a long time since he’s felt so disgustingly domestic. He nips at her lip and River purrs softly, pulling away to pop a piece of bacon into her mouth.

 

“Burnt,” she concludes, and eats another piece anyway.

 

“You’re welcome,” he mutters, turning back to the omelets.

 

River rests her chin on his shoulder, her hand sliding over his hip. “I didn’t say thank you.”

 

His lips curl. “I noticed.”

 

Behind them, Clara gathers the mental capacity to clear her throat. “John, that’s not the friend I set you up with.”

 

“Don’t be an idiot, I know that.” John glances over his shoulder at her as River pulls away, sighing. “Your rubbish friend never showed.”

 

“Remind me to thank her for that,” River mutters.

 

John nods, glancing at her fondly. “We’ll send her flowers.”

 

“She should be sending _me_ flowers,” she says, smirking. “I did her a favor.”

 

He snorts. “Bugger off.”

 

Clara stares. “Hang on, who is -”

 

He waves a hand at her. “River, meet Clara. Clara, meet River – my plus one and answer to your ruddy seating arrangement.”

 

“Is that any way to talk about your fiancée?” River flashes her ring, reaching around him for another slice of bacon. Her grin is impish and entirely contagious. Biting back a smile, John catches her wrist in his hand and kisses her knuckles as Clara chokes.

 

“Sorry, _what_?”

 

“Bit sudden, we know,” River admits, affecting a shrug.

 

John nods, still eyeing her fondly. “But fun.”

 

Her eyes light up and she beams at him with such radiance he can’t help but wonder how he’d ever found her unbearable. He welcomes her touch as she cups his cheek in her hand and leans in, her nose brushing his and her lips curved against his mouth. “But fun,” she whispers in agreement.

 

Something tells John he’ll be having rather a lot of it with River around.


End file.
